Naughty or Nice?
by CraftyNotepad
Summary: Ho! Ho! Ho! Season's Greeting, fellow Pickfordites! My mail sure piles up this time of year. Join me and Mrs. Claus as we go through Pickford's Letters to Santa: Myron the Bully, Reformed
1. Lloyd's Letter

Naughty or Nice?

Lloyd's Letter

Ho! Ho! Ho! Season's Greeting, fellow Pickfordites! I know that I owe everyone here something nice for Christmas, but the hot coco keeps leaking out of the box no matter how much tape I use, so, since I don't own Phil of the Future ...

» ◊ « 

"Mmmm, cocoa. Jingle-bells, jingle-bells. Jingle all the BY ALL THAT'S FROSTY! Helga, where are my marsh mellows?"

"_Just keep your pants on and your bellowing down to a low roar, Santa. The dear elves worked a triple shift again and even elfin toy makers must sleep sometime."_

"I'm sorry, Helga. I'm just in a mood with these latest mailbags."

"_What's the matter, Dear?"_

"Nothing."

"_Honey?"_

"What?"

"_Noooothing."_

SluRp "Not the same without the little marsh mellows."

"_No. I don't know why I bother making it at all. Now if I made marsh mellows, then my efforts would be valued and appreciated. From now on, all I'm going to -- "_

"Pickford, California, U.S.A, North America. SlurP These people are pips. Listen to this one:"

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Dear Mister Santa Claus Sir:

Re: My request list for the upcoming delivery expected from you on December 25th, 12:00 a.m.

Your Majesty, I humbly ask for the receipt of the six components on the attached requisition. They don't exist yet, but I really, really, really need them to get home. If anyone can fashion them, then it is you, your Honor, Sir. Oh, and I've been good. The parts aren't really for me, well, they are. What I mean is that I'll use them, but not for me, well, I'll use them for me, too, but I want them for my family, not that they'd have any idea what to do with them. (You understand what I mean, right, Guy?)

Your most humble servant,

Lloyd Diffy

_- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - _

"_'Naughty or Nice?' It seems like an easy choice which list he goes on, Dearie."_

"'Nutty' or Nice, you mean. Just look at his parts list! His lederhosen obviously doesn't go up to the top, --"

"_Dear."_

" -- his cap isn't snug, -- "

"_Now, Dear ..."_

" -- his bag is mighty empty, -- "

"_Santa!"_

"Obviously, Helga, his cocoa is missing a few -- "

"_Yes, Santa?"_

"Yes, well, could you pull his file, please, Hon? Thank you. Awfully thin file. Are you sure this is the right Lloyd Diffy? A file this thin is usually only for toddlers, (the very feeble minded) and such."

"_It's the only one. Curious. No date of birth. No marriage certificate either. Just a slew of hospital admissions for an upset stomach, hives, food poisoning, ... "_

"Oh, the usual. Okay, add his letter into his file, fruitcake the fruitcake, and toss in a case of the pink stuff that he can chug-a-lug the next time he eats something that he should have just said 'no' to.

Next Pickford letter, please. Oh, listen to this one ..."


	2. Candida's Wish List

Naughty or Nice?

Alright, 'tis the season for baking, and the gingerbread men I baked for all of you came out beautifully. They were perfect. They were golden brown. They were delicious. Ah, crumbs. They were delicious, too. They almost made me feel better about not owning Phil of the Future. Almost.

» ◊ «

Candida's Wish List

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November 25

Dearest Santa,

It's that time of the year again. First, I want to thank you for the loveliest cashmere jacket ever seen at H. G. Wells, the tripling of my gold card limit, the gift certificate for three months free hair styling at Madame Uppity's Beauty Parlor, and – of course – all the Italian shoes.

Secondly, Cancun was spectacular last spring, thanks to your choice of hotel accommodations -- the Marriott Cancun Resort & Spa turned out to be as elegant as its reputation. You have excellent taste, as you do every year. As per tradition, the enclosed thirteen-page Christmas list for you to provide has been increased 50-percent in both quantity and expense.

Santa, you're not getting any younger, so how about I make it easier on you this year. Instead of overloading your little sled with my presents, how about we make a little deal that'll make things easier on your back, not to mention your sweet little reindeer? You get around a lot, right – know a lot of people? I want an address. That's it. I'll trade all of your gifts to me this year for that little bit of 411.

His name is Jake. I only met him once at a school dance, but it was magical. We connected, we found out that we had the same interests, he's a great dancer, tall and suave, he's, he's ... he's the one.

Please, find him for me, Santa. He's all that I want for Christmas.

Most sincerely,

Candida Scobel

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"_That is so beautiful!" _

"And?"

_(Sigh) "You – were – right. Happy?_"

"Ahhhhhhh ... could be."

"_I admit that she's placing a person in place of material goods."_

"Yesss! Do I know my stuff or what?!! I'm the Man. Uh-huh, Santa's cool. You know it. Uh-huh."

"_But listen to her. She's not doing this for him; she's still doing this for herself. It's still selfish."_

"It's a beginning. Don't diminish it by over analyzing it. She's finally growing on the inside. Break out the eggnog, Mama, 'cause this is a moment worth celebrating."

"_So, Nice List again?"_

Santa's bushy white eyebrows raise halfway up his forehead.

"_You're getting off easy this year, you know?"_

"No argument here. Let me see. Jake? Jake? Jack, James, Jamie, Jason, Jacque, Jeff, Jim, Jonny, Joseph, Jules, ... no, not a Jake within two hundred miles of Pickford. Pass this along to Dingle in Research. She can find anyone and she has a whole month to do it in. Child's play for Dingle! So, Candida stays on the Nice List, but cancel her presents."

"_Done. What else is in the mail bag?"_


	3. CURTIS LIST

Naughty or Nice?

A movie, cartoon series, more seasons of Phil of the Future, Santa, is that too much to ask for? I think not. I'd share those gifts with others if you'd just place them under my tree. I'd do it myself, but I don't own Phil of the Future.

» ◊ «

November 27

CURTIS LIST

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Big Fat Red Man Who Bring Good Stuff

Good Stuff Last Time. You Good Man. Curtis Good Man.

So You Come Again. Bring More Stuff For Cave.

Wipe Feet First. Last Visit Much Soot.

Curtis Want Magic Hot Water Pipe Like Diffy House.

Curtis Want Sweets That No Hurt Teeth.

Curtis Want Horse With Two Round Feet So Chase Fast Runners. Hee- Hee. That Funny!

Curtis Want No More Baths! ENUF!

Curtis Want ... No, That Enuf.

You Old Man. White Hair. Tubby Like Walrus. No. Bigger! Like Elefant!

Fat Man Bring All And Curtis Be Happy.

When Curtis Happy, Curtis Good. Curtis Good, Fat Man Come Back.

Then, Curtis Happy, Curtis Good. Curtis Good, Fat Man Come Back.

Then, Curtis Happy, Curtis Good. Curtis Good, Fat Man Come Back.

Then, Curtis Happy, Curtis Good. Curtis Good, Fat Man Come Back.

Then, Curtis Happy, Curtis Good. Curtis Good, Fat Man Come Back.

Then, Curtis Happy, Curtis Good. Curtis Good, Fat Man Come Back.

Then, Curtis Happy, Curtis Good. Curtis Good, Fat Man Come Back.

Then, Curtis Happy, Curtis Good. Curtis Good, Fat Man Come Back.

Then, Curtis Happy, Curtis Good. Curtis Good, Fat Man Come Back.

Then, Curtis Happy, Curtis Good. Curtis Good, Fat Man Come Back.

Whew! You Get Idea.

You Come Soon? Big Feast!

You Get Fatter When Curtis Cook One Of Your Flying Deer.

Yummy! Big Tummy. You Look Better. Too Skinny.

XOXO

CURTIS

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The Clauses are speechless. Curtis' requests aren't so unusual – a bike, sweets, no more baths -- but, HEY, you heard what Curtis wrote! Mrs. Claus takes the letter from her husband's limp grasp, smoothes out the animal skin that it is written on, and gently stamps it approved before filing it away. Curtis' name is added to the Good List, but not by Santa. He's still in shock. For almost a year he's been wondering what happened to Blitzen ...

Helga searches the mail from Pickford in hopes of a normal letter next time. She's obviously never been to Pickford herself.


	4. Mr Weatherwax's Want List

Naughty or Nice?

Santa, Rudolph and I walk into a bar – no, make that a pole. Ouch! Really, Rudolph? It's made of peppermint? Well, I always wondered why the North Pole was striped! Extra special Christmas peppermint, you say? I can have the first taste? Don't mind if I do. Ay! Eye ongue is tuck. Cum back heer u tu othergoan delinkquins! U tink ur so mart? U don't own Phil of the Future, ether! Hay Ruddy, u luk funny! Cum bak, gies! Ho, ho, ho, ndeed.

» ◊ «

November 27

Mr. Weatherwax's Want List

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Happy Holidays Santa,

Okay, not for you, but me? I'm going skiing in four weeks. Yes, snow! At the seaside, I suffer the "beached whale" jokes (you know how it is, Big Guy), but up at Aspen I just look well insulated. Goodbye video lab geeks and Hello Ski Bunnies!

Say, do you know of a good big & tall guy's shop? The only one in Pickford shut down in October – I barely purchased my new clothes for school! What am I going to do? So I figure, "Santa," he's a big guy like me. He'll know where to shop. So, what do you say? Be a pal. Oh, and while you're in the neighborhood, see if you can drop off a slimming ski suit that I can use on the slopes, okay Buddy? You never know who I'll meet on the bunny slope!

Thanks Buddy, you're a lifesaver!

Cecil Weatherwax

P.S. Milk and cookies? You have full refrigerator privileges at my place, so don't be shy, Guy.

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"He's still around? Amazing. And his letter is stained with donut grease. Hasn't he heard of celery?"

"_He's enclosed a picture, just his school photo headshot, but he doesn't look any further away from a heart attack. Look."_

"Oh, Cecil. Cecil, you're not going to be around many more Christmases the way you've been going. Helga, didn't he eat the diet food that we brought him last season?"

"_I'll say. He ate the entire six-month supply before Valentine's Day. Poppa, what can we do? Poppa, why are you smiling?"_

"Give me a moment. Da ... da ... DA! Susie Nugyen."

"_Santa, she hasn't written you a letter in years."_

"So, I write her. About time I give the Post Office some business going in the other direction. Add Susie to the list, Mama. She's getting an all expenses paid ski trip in, where was that?"

"_Aspen, Dear."_

"A trip to Aspen. Have Myrth arrange the details so Susie will spend time with Cecil. I haven't played Cupid for at least two thousand mail bags; it feels so good. Susie will make him thin again."

"_Since when can you see into the future?"_

"Do not doubt Santa's powers!"

"_And if she doesn't like him? Not every woman likes big men, like me, you know?"_

"If she breaks his heart, then he will be too depressed to eat -- he certainly can't eat more than he already is. If he likes her, but she's disinterested, then he will diet to become more appealing. If they both fall in love, then she will pick out his meals."

"_How did you jump to that last conclusion? Sometimes I think that you miss occasionally when leaping from rooftop to rooftop. You wear a red cap, Dear, not a red cape."_

"Very funny, Helga. Susie Nugyen is the new nutritionist at Pickford Memorial Hospital. She'll either have him eating right as she has Cecil eating right out of the palm of her hand, or she'll have him too emotional to eat. Either way, Weatherwax is going to wane. Oh, that's good; somebody should be writing this down."

Smiling, Helga adds two names to the Nice List. Santa thinks that his bride is smiling in agreement as she adds a star next to Cecil Weatherwax's name. She has another reason -- she owes Cecil one. Depression can be deadly up here in the Great White, but regardless, no one wants a depressed Santa soaring on Christmas night. Next letter ...

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Author's Note: For those of you who can't quite recall Mr. Weatherwax, let me help you. He's the instructor teaching video lab, the same guy that sends Phil to second grade to work on penmanship, as well as, the teacher both okaying Phil's meteor documentary and keeping the camera rolling when Crash spills the beans on big brother Tanner's crying when the goat licked him. If all that doesn't ring a bell, then perhaps you remember Weatherwax's belching due to his habit of eating fast food four times a day without complaining?


	5. Via's Note to St Nick

Naughty or Nice?

_Christmas, like home, isn't reliant upon a place or a season as much as it is upon the shared love and respect that links us to our true family. While I admittedly disclaim ownership in PotF, I can not in all good conscience disclaim my Pickfordian citizenship, especially during this holiday season whence miracles are reputed to occur._

◊

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•_°» ◊ «°_•

•°°•°°•°•°°••°°•

_2007 November 28_

•°••°•°°•°°•°•°°••°°••°•

_Via's Letter to St. Nicholas_

X

_-----------------------_

_Dearest St. Nicholas,_

_Surprised to see my letter coming from America? Probably not, you sly elf. Pickford is fast becoming my second home with so many good memories forming. No special boy yet, but I've made fine friends and I'd like to ask your indulgence in bringing gifts to them. As customary, my wish list may sound peculiar considering my recent literary libation. _

_For my favorite teacher, Mr. Messerschmitt, I'd like you to give him heart. He's extremely knowledgeable and, despite his dark side toward assessments, I sense that he truly enjoys teaching and honing the minds of his pupils._

_For my first friends in this new land, I'd appreciate you finding a way to provide Keely and Phil with the courage necessary to tell one another what everyone else recognizes without words. Watching them dance around the issue was amusing initially, but now it's purely tortuous to observe._

_For Owen the Clueless, could you give him a brain, please? Or how about a girlfriend? He's cute enough, I suppose, but he's so 50-50: Fifty-percent hormones and the other half fifty-months old. He actually licks his fingers clean at lunch! And does he think that he's fooling anyone with that blonde dye job? His clothes aren't bad; they fit him nicely and he somehow keeps them stain- and crumb-free -- please don't ask me how. He's already a skirt chaser, but not a single girl is taking his bait, so his attentions eventually return to me. Really Nick, I don't want him. Not that he's not genuine, or pretty, but we simply have nothing in common. He's likely not happy with my rejections and he's possibly interfering with Mr. Right approaching me. Help me, please, Father Christmas!_

_For myself, I'd like to visit my relatives back in England, but my father says that that is not to be this season. That being the situation, and barring your offering me a ride upon your sleigh, I'd like to have a little of home brought to Pickford. Snow. Please, I'd like a white Christmas. Not enough to damage the town's tomato farms, but just enough to make the wintery streets and rooftops more picturesque. It's acceptable if there isn't enough to make snow angels; I just want to be able to scrape together enough snow from the car's bonnet to drop a snowball down the front of Owen's shirt -- I mean, the back._

_Best wishes to you and yours, including Godspeed in your journey on the eve of Christmas,_

_Olivia ♥_

_-----------------------_

"My, my! What do you think, Dear?"

_"Probably the same as you. Spectacles and a hand mirror?"_

"Obviously. Such a bright girl, and yet --"

_"Some things cycle eternally, my love. Shall we try once more?"_


	6. Marla Beauregarde Hits Up Santa

Naughty or Nice?

Disclaimer? You want me to admit to not having something? What's next? Pressuring Diffys to admit to the absence of a deca of pedal digits? Petty, and not in the spirit of the season. Still, I admit that I want the ownership of Phil of the Future if only to find it under my tree.

November 29

Marla Beauregarde's Letter

» ◊ « 

Happy Holidays!

Time, Santa, for you to be comin' 'round to visit quicker than a bare backside finding its way off the top of a hot potbellied stove. You're a busy, busy man, so I'll spit this out lickety-split. I want boys. No, college men. The males at H. G. Wells are so flighty, so unappreciative of a woman of refinement such as my own self. Now, you'll need to provide me with a new wardrobe to endow me with a more mature style that matches my inner refinement, then I'm thinking a night college class once a week so I can pledge the Kappa Kappa Alpha house. They're certain to recognize my sophistication and ask me to join them to raise their already high standards with my overwhelming charms..

So, that's it. You supply the fancy threads and my own innate qualities will rise to the occasion of securing male companionship.

Merry Kissmas,

Miss Marla Beauregarde

Pickford, CA, USA

-----------------------

Stunned, both Clauses look up at one another.

Helga is the first to speak.

"_I never knew that Candida had a sister named Marla."_

Kris just chuckles a simple ho-ho-ho. Mother Nature always did abhor a vacuum; still, she's getting swifter in her old age.

-----------------------

Author's note: Just so there isn't a repeat of the whole Mr. Weatherwax amnesia episode, Marla appeared in one episode of PotF, first season, episode six, "Phenomenally Yours." She's the reason for the entire "Philly-Willy" phenomenon. Marla is confident, goes after who she wants, and commits herself to her amorous interest. She does have trouble seeing somebody else's point of view when she's already committed her self to her path. Think _coconana smoothie._


	7. Barbara's Xmas Requests

Disclaimer: It may be Christmas Day, but this tale continues as if it were not, just as PotF may be on hiatus, but it continues here just the same, even without my ownership of it.

Barbara's Xmas Requests

------------------------------

November 30

Dear Kris Kringle:

My name is Mrs. Lloyd Diffy. I'm a gentle and loving wife and mother trying to do her best in a little town called Pickford. You're probably stopping by our home this Christmas Eve and I understand that it's traditional to help you decide what to pack inside your sky transport that night.

**For my husband, Lloyd**, oh, I hesitate to ask, but it is Christmas and he's in sore need of holiday cheer, besides he needs to be distracted from something before he finishes it, so it would really be appreciated if you could treat him to some monkey juggling. You know, just five or six will be just fine and dandy. Lloyd's been extra good, so could you also pass out moonshine jugs, washboards and mouth harps to Pickford's musically inclined, so they may also distract my love from his tinkering as he forms a hillbilly band.

**My daughter, Pim**, also needs distraction from her hobby's passion. I don't know exactly what to ask for her, but I know what she likes: total control, absolute power, and total control in the direction of her destiny. What do you think? Train set?

**Phil, my older child,** needs direction in his life. Happy enough to go through life day in and day out, absent of purpose. He needs his own interest, a passion if you will, in life, a reason of some sort to get up each morning. Please, do whatever you can.

**The Teslow Family**, especially Keely Teslow, has made our family, especially Phil, welcomed in Pickford. I'd know that Mandy Teslow wishes that she could spend more time with her daughter, so if she had a very prosperous first quarter, she'd be more relaxed about affording mother-daughter days off, maybe even weeks.

**For my tenant, Curtis**, an elephant's trunk shower head, your strongest – I MEAN STRONGEST -- reindeer shampoo, his own washing machine, and your largest bottles -- make that barrels -- of mouthwash.

**To Henrietta Mantis**, Lloyd and Curtis's mutual employer, it can be anything chemical. The lady is stuck in the 60s -- that's 1960s!

**Keith, our water delivery guy**, could use a girlfriend. He looks at me funny.

**For my family**, I want to be a better cook, a chef even. I try so hard and it's fun, but the final results ... Kris, even the birds and the mice won't eat what I cook up. I don't know how my family stomachs it. If you can't help me become an accomplished hash slinger, I'm afraid you'll have to install cast-iron stomachs in each member of the Diffy family, and those parts are hard to come by at this time.

**To the nicest man next door, Neil Hackett**, I'd like a taller fence, for our privacy and his safety.

Of course, I've been good. I'm Barbara Diffy. voted "Miss Teenage Sunshine '04." I love everyone. I bake snickerdoodles every Thursday. I'm a mother.

Thank you, Mr. Kringle, for your extreme generousity.

Sincerely yours,

Mrs. Lloyd Diffy

P.S. Please disregard any requests in letters to you now or in the future by **Andy Baxley**. Without going into ANY details, all the boy deserves is a stocking filled with coal, preferably a large stocking swung about and striking him in the face, over and over and over again. Merry Christmas!

-- Barbara

------------------------------

"Know what, Dear?"

"_I most assuredly do. Lloyd Diffy's letter makes no more sense, but I can sympathize with him much more. Poor dear. Do you think that it's genetic?"_

"No, they're related through marriage, and, anyway, look at the other letters from Pickford. I'm betting that it's in the water. Have the elf commissary check the ketchup bottles, will you, Honey? We can't afford to be falling apart in the workshop this close to launch. And toss me another letter. Somewhere in Pickford must be an oasis of sanity."


	8. DecemBer 1

Disclaimer

Cold winter winds cry.

A snowman sheds seven tears.

Sorrow. PotF not mine.

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

DecemBer 1

HEY SANTUH!

It's That Time Again! HeRE's WHat I wanT YoU To BRinG ME!

STUFF! A WHOLE LOT of S T U F F ! There should some Doubt as to whether there is a tree in the front room anymore -- Can't See the Tree For the Presents, get it? Oh, and Bring these things, too, okay?

1. A Motorcycle -- I'm getting my license, Man! Girls Dig Bikes!

2. A SurfBoard -- SWEET & SALTY! Just Like Me!

3. A Jet Ski -- Can't Wait Until the Beach Bunnies Hold On Tight to Me to Hang On!

4. A Hang GliDer -- So I can Spot the Honnies from miles arounD!

5. A VenDing Machine in my BedRoom! Yea!

6. Keely's Cell NumBer! Via's Cell NumBer! Every Girl's Cell NumBer!

Cool? Cool! See you soon, DuDe! Get some rest Because you're going to Be pulling an all-nighter!

See ya!

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_"Well, that's certainly -- Santa, what are you doing with that letter?"_

"Helga, I'm running a business, not a charity."

_"You let Candida wrap you around your little finger, handing her luxury atop luxury. Why are you denying this boy the same thi--"_

"How do you know that the writer is a boy?"

_"Kristofer Kringle! Just look at the letter again -- the capital "Bs" and "Ds." You know that he's always had difficulty reversing those lower-cased letters. Now, you're going to pick one of those items and deliver it Christmas Eve!"_

"I've got rules to follow, Helga dear. He didn't sign his letter. His teachers have been telling him for a decade to put his name on his paper, but no, not him. What do his teachers do with his work?"

_"You're not a teacher. YOU'RE SANTA CLAUS, remember?"_

"I think that I could really teach him something here, don't you? Besides, rules are rules."

_"Of course, Dear. Just let me make up your bed."_

"Our bed is fine, Helga."

_"Yes, Dear, it is, but you're sleeping with your reindeer until next Christmas, and maybe the one after that IF you're a slow learner yourself."_

"Mn-b-m-mnn-mn-mdl ..."

_"What was that?"_

"I asked if you think he'd like a 250 or 350cc engine on his motorcycle."

_"Oh, I think that the 250 will be just fine, and easier on the dear reindeer, Dear."_

"(don't you "triple-dear" me. the kid should have asked for a crash helmet, even if it is years too late to do any good now!)"

_"What was that, Father Christmas?"_

"Two-fifty, right! I was just saying that I think that we should toss in a helmet, and how!"

_"That's what I thought you said. Oh, look at this one ..."_


	9. A Christmas Miracle For Caryl

Disclaimer: ♪ Oh, come all ye faithful ♪ ... and celebrate another letter from the most northern of addresses. No, I didn't pinch it from the mail carrier anymore than I own Phil of the Future. Gee, I reuse a postage stamp once and I'm branded for life. Good thing St. Nicholas is the patron saint of thieves. ;-D

A Christmas Miracle For Caryl the Crier

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December 2nd

St. Nicholas,

I need your special help. Never mind the toys and sparkles. I need one of your old-fashioned, get-it-done miracles. Yes, I know that there's more to you than a bag full of toys, eight tiny reindeer and a red suit. I know that you are both old, wise, and understanding; that you look after a lot of people that need your help. I think that I'm most of them. I miss Mikey.

He's my boyfriend. No, more than that, he's my one, true love and he's in prison and I need you to break him out. Now, his cell is not one of cement and steel like you occupied, but of mental blocks, torn flesh and shattered bones. You are the _Patron Saint of prisoners_, correct? It was a couple of years ago, and we were just children, but completely in love. You are still the _Patron Saint of schoolchildren, unmarried girls, and boys_, right? There was this terrible, terrible accident at school where he was stolen from me; he can't even remember us! Our love, our grand plans for the future were stolen from us in an instance. My research reveals that you are also the _Patron Saint of robberies and apothecaries_; good, we need all the help that you can muster for a cure. I don't care if he can't even carry his own lunch tray yet. I'll take care of him. I just need him to remember us. He needs that, too.

If you can''t bring my love back to me, you won't be off the hook. Just so there's no misunderstanding, as the _Patron Saint for spinsters and old maids_, I'll be in your face for years. You see, I can never love ever again, unless you help. You Have Got To HELP!

If you need my help, you can find me at home or at H. G. Wells Jr./Sr. High School. Either place, any day, I'll be the one crying my heart out all day long.

This is all that I want for Christmas now and ever more, Santa.

Love,

Caryl, as in Christmas Carol

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"_What are you going to do?"_

"These thing never work out the way they imagine them to. The passage of time allows them to romanticize their relationships into something that they never were. Maybe I could forward her cell phone number to ..."

"Pop-pa ..."

°Knock-Knock°

"_Come in. Oh my, so many! This looks like a delegation."_

"Mrs. Claus. Santa. Word has circulated through the mail room about what happened to Blitzen. Santa. Mrs. Claus. We all feel colder than a penguin's --"

"_Yes, thank you, we thank all of you." (This is the last thing that Santa needed – I had just pulled him out of his funk, and now this.)_

Not at all, Mrs. C. We'll leave you alone. Back to work. There is still a job to be done. Again, all of our condolences."

An oversized fir door is pulled shut as the elves leave their friends to their own thoughts once more.

"_I'm sorry about that, Dear. I – I don't want you to – What are you doing with those three dusty balls?"_

"I can't do anything about dear Blitzen, but I can help bring a merry Christmas to a young girl named Caryl. Pack these in my bag, Helga, and pass me another letter."

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Author's Notes: Caryl is the classmate from "Stuck In the Meddle With You" episode whom Keely tried to help pair up with her true love two years earlier. Caryl makes appearances throughout the episode whenever Keely assures others that she is really good at match making as she tries to match up Grady Spagget with Grace.

Oh, and those three dusty balls are in reference to something that you won't find in the soda company's rendition of the saint in the red suit. It's a common symbol for St. Nicky, related to a story in which he anonymously gave three bags of gold for each daughter of a poor man so they could wed. It's also used as the pawn broker's symbol. Seems that St. Nick is the patron saint of just about everybody – and you thought that he got around a lot just on Christmas Eve.

°•°

Here's a bit of trivia: Old Nick really did spend over five years in prison. Breaking and entering? That's what I thought, too, but it was for refusing to worship _himself_ as a god. Sure, the emperor threw a lot of folks in dirty little cells for not worshiping Nick as a deity, but to throw the guy that he declared to be a god in jail took chutzpah. Then, a total lack of reflection as to how his new god couldn't get himself out of a cell in five years. Definitely not game show material, this ruler.


	10. Mrs Claus Gets Mail

Disclaimer:

◊

"There was a young lady named Bright,

who travelled much faster than light.

She left one day

in a relative way,

and returned the previous night."

Do I own PotF? Well, ownership is a relative term.

» ◊ «

"_Why are you handing me the envelope back, Kris?"_

"Look at the front. It's not addressed to me."

---------------------------------------------

December 3rd

Hi Mrs. Claus!

We just wanted to wish you a happy leap year with 365 days to enjoy being with your hubby! Just thinking about a whole extra day makes us grin 'til we're silly about it. But enough of that; it's time to get serious. We've done some calculations and understand that your husband is violating the speed of light in order to make all of his deliveries in one night. Now we're not going to tell on him to Bugs Bunny or Vice-Principal Hackett, but is it possible that we could use the technology ourselves?

See, one of our families is planning on moving and we just can't stand the thought of being separated; life just can't be so cruel as to put us together and then render us apart, especially around this time of the year. So ... we think that Mr. Kringle is using a tachyonic drive somehow during his deliveries to exceed the light speed barrier. If we could use this, we could be together always among the stars. Santa uses his equipment in approximately half-a-billion homes on Christmas Eve, but these are all in extremely short bursts, rooftop to rooftop even.

Here's what we want to do: duplicate the sled's drive and run it full out. We realize that we can't maintain that velocity in Earth's atmosphere, so we're planning to hook it up to an old van that we'll stock up with snacks and some foam cushions. Engage the drive and we'll hold hands for century, our kiss will last a millennium, and when we use the cushions, we'll be busy for an eternity.

We know that this isn't your typical request for Christmas, but we're not the typical couple – sure, everybody says that, but it's really true when it comes to us. To see us, you'd know that we are meant to be. We can't live without the other.

In Hope and Love, we're awaiting your response,

Grace and Grady

Pickford, California

---------------------------------------------

"Inventive. Let me see that, Helga. Such passion. Such Devotion."

"_You're not considering --"_

"No, no. Doesn't work they way they think it does, so, one, they could never duplicate what I do, and, two, they wouldn't make it through the night, let alone eternity. The night seems to take only a few hours to the world, but it seems like decades to me. Look at me! Even with Christmas magic, I'm an old, fat man before my route, and a skinny old man come the dawn, while you, look at you. A millenium-and-a-half and you still look like you're seventeen!"

"_I don't care what you look like, Darling, just as long as you're happy. You know that you're not ready for a desk job."_

"But --"

"_No buts, but what are you going to tell these kids? Nothing technical, I hope. They sound cornered and desperate. I'm concerned that they could do something crazy and hurt themselves, or worse."_

Santa pauses for a moment, sighing and reflecting with a serious brow, then he does something that he rarely does. Picking up a candy cane pen, he pens a return letter to Grady and Grace.

◊

Our Dear Children,

Santa here. Forget it. The magic doesn't work for anyone, but Santa.

Love each other. Remember one another. Write! Remember that absence makes the heart grow fonder and that time already passes more quickly than you can possibly realize.

I'm happy that you are meant to be; just realize that even Santa has to leave his missis, and that we both trust that we will be together once again after I've been a world away. Things are never as permanent as they seem. You both believe that you are meant to be. Perhaps it will help if you know that Helga and I believe that as well. Have patience and faith that it will all work out with effort, surely, but not a desperate one.

We expect to hear from you both next Christmas, whether you are both living in Pickford or not. As for this Christmas, miracles still happen.

Your friends, the Clauses

◊

-

-

Author's Notes: Alright, after Caryl's chapter, I should hope that everybody remembers Grace and Grady.

As for the tachyonic drive, tachyons are theoretical particles which always travel _faster than_ the speed of light, so tachyons are actually time traveling all the time. Hey, Lloyd gets it.

See, this is how Santa travels to all those houses each night! Say, he scoots down the chimney, delivers the elf-made presents, and makes it back up on the roofop in a couple of mintes, give or take. Then he travels faster than light to the next house, going back in time two minutes. Net result? He's gotten work done within no elapse of time! Why, if it wasn't for the refueling on milk and cookies – and don't forget the reindeer rest stops, he could finish the entire job in the wink of an eye.

-

-

The limerick above is from an astronomy telecourse titled Project Universe.


	11. Nathan Messerschmitt's Snow Job

Naughty or Nice?

Disclaimer: It wasn't me. I didn't do it – I wasn't even there at the time. Furthermore, I – what? Oh, you just wanted to ask me if I owned Phil of the Future. Well, no, but it is on my Christmas wish list. Does that count?

Nathan Messerschmitt's Snow Job

----------------------------------------------

Fourth of December

Joyous Yuletide Greetings, Sinter Klass:

Overjoyed, am I, that you will once again be ubiquitous making your global trek through the glorious nighttime heavens to bring your sack brimming with treasured goodies, as a ruby red-breasted robin fluttering homeward to regurgitate from his stomach a feast of partially digested annelids to his off-spring, to good little children like myself, all fast asleep.

Have I been good, you ask.

If I were a sundae, I'd feature your three favorite flavors of frozen dairy products bordered by not a halved, but two entire bananas, topped off with so many colorful syrups and sprinkles that this concoction would appear as if Walt Disney threw up.

If I were a bird, I would be the majestic eagle, soaring stratospherically above any temptations toward misbehavior, my golden beak poised toward even loftier goals of goodness.

If I were a pillow, I would be stuffed with the softest, lightest feathers of human kindness, sewn inside the casing of humility by the well-intentioned efforts of my saintly mother's guidance to grow myself into the man of kindness, culture and, and, ... oh, cranberries! I almost had it.

Be that as it may, I humbly petition yourself for the receipt of a sturdy baseball bat, a twenty-ounce hammer, a new carpenter's saw (the old one has been worn dull), a five-inch-opening bench vise, oh, and pocket safety goggles this year without a headstrap.

May the new year find you relaxation and tranquillity with schedule filled full of reflection for Christmas past and inspiration for the Christmases yet to be.

Your finest admirer,

Master Nathan Messerschmitt, Esq.

----------------------------------------------

"_Now, Santa, --"_

"Don't 'Now, Santa,' me, Helga Claus."

"_He's only a little boy, my love, and --"_

"AND he's old enough to know better."

"_He's nine-and-a-half."_

"Old enough. What are they teaching them in schools these days?"

"_What are you talking about?"_

"Do they not still teach that I know when they've been good or bad, so be good for goodness sake?"

"_Well, I suppose so."_

"Who does he think that he's trying to give a snow job to? Me! The man who lives at the freakin' North Pole! I know snow. I practically invented the stuff."

"_Now, Santa."_

"Well, you know what I mean."

"_Yes, Dear."_

"Well, it's the lack of respect. I mean, he's treating me like a child. Me! Who does he think that he's fooling?"

"_He's just a little boy. You were a little boy once, too. Remember?"_

"You're right. Okay, put him on the nice list."

"_Good for you, Santa. Should all the tools be arranged nicely in one package for him?"_

"Tools? Nah. Underwear. He's getting underwear for Christmas. I remember what I got at his age."

"_Now, Santa."_

"Don't forget the socks. Lots of socks. wrapped up in a row like a baseball bat."

_(Sigh) "Yes, Dear."_

_(°) (o) (°) (o) (°) (o) (°) (o) (°) (o) (°) (o) (°) (o) (°) (o) (°)_

Author's Note: Of course, we all remember the caterpillar-lipped pint-sized nephew of Adelaide Messerschmitt, hard test examiner extraordinaire. With glee, this suit-wearing adult wanna-be trashed the Diffy's house under the overwhelmed supervision of Keely and Phil in the episode "Maybe-sitting" before Keely used the New-Ager on him to mature his behavior to that of an old man.


	12. Myron the Bully, Reformed

On a personal note, 3,999 is close enough for me to declare that Locker Notes just reached four-thousand hits within a year. :-D

Disclaimer: Yo, Elf Meister! According to dis here records o' mine, it's time for yor annual payment, I means delivery. Let us see here, your usual payment ... cLicK, ClicKity, CLick ... times our generous interest rate ... CLick, cLicK, ClicKity ... plus a gratuity to us from youse in light of season to which we are here in ... cLicK, ClicKity, CLick, PiNg! Mighty big numbers, Santy Claus. Maybe haps we could comes to an agreement type, here? See, I'se don't exactly own Phil of the Future, but if youse cud leaves it in mys stocking, why we'd be whats yous calls "copasetic." Capisca?

Naughty or Nice?

Myron's First **Coal**-less Christmas In Years

--------------------------------------------------------

12-4

Dear Mr. Claus,

How's the weather? News-flash! I've been good this year, most of it anyways. Things have been different this year. I'm mellower, I hang around with a different crew, and Cookie, Jr. is a good listener. This year, I think you can save some coal for your stove, instead. Besides bring me the best of the items that I've asked for over the last six years, I'd like something extra extra special. Understand, I've got new friends and a lot of them are into this, not me of course, but I joined this club at school because they did. It's kind of cool and we hang out during lunch every other Tuesday in a classroom with our faculty advisor. The dude is knowledgeable about the subject, just totally quirky. If anyone acts like they've already been taken on a ride, it's this guy. People talk about what they've gleamed off of the internet and the dude gets all twitchy and sweaty sometimes. His eyes are shifty. Look, I figure that if anyone has really seen aliens, it's you riding around the sky all these years. In celebration of my turning around my life, how's about a souvenir from a spaceship? It'd make me the hit of the group and I'll send you a vid of the effect of the unveiling has on Mr. Hackett. What about it, Nick?

Myron

P.S. Could you make that a case of the good mustard, too? It's the best for sandwiches.

--------------------------------------------------------

"Cookie Break! More of your special hot cocoa please, Helga."

_"I know the tradition, Sweetie. Another child has made it from the naught list to the nice. It's worth my breaking out the little marsh mellow, even. If only ..."_

"If only 'what'?"

_He has his siblings, his mother, even his new rabbit. Do you see him asking for something for his sister Jerry or Joey, or anyone else? It just seems like a selfish request. He's not even interested in the actual gift, just in impressing his friends and torturing his poor teacher."_

"Now, Helga. These are his first steps in right direction in a long time."

_"Tradition, Dear. The season is about love and giving; that's all I'm saying."_

"Fine. Groundhog's Day Rule?"

_"That's all I'm saying."_

"Agreed. If Myron can express love and generosity toward others by G-Day, then his presents will arrive after being "lost" in shipping. So, he belongs on the "Maybe List?"

_"That's all I'm saying."_

"Good luck, Myron. The rest is up to you. That's all I'm saying."

- - - - - - - - - - - 

Author's Note: Jerry, the female sandwich extortionist to Pim, has a big brother named Myron. Myron tried to pull the same "insurance pressure" on Phil, egg-salad on wheat--style, but Phil pulled a rabbit out of his, uh, backpack, and reformed the bully into somebody who makes his own sandwiches to this day. No bull. At least not since Myron, Phil, and the rest of the "Detention Four" tried to crash the 50's dance with a real male bovine, but ended up with nothing but a pair of swim fins. No bull. Really, that's all I'm saying.

_Twenty Days Until Christmas_


End file.
